


Coral

by Xenodike



Series: Gemstone Verse [2]
Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Children, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Male Slash, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenodike/pseuds/Xenodike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, you'll kill, without remorse but you're not a murderer, you've never planned someone's death just for the sake of killing without any other payoff then the person dying.</p>
<p>Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **This be the sequel:** this is a sequel to my story JADE - I don't recommend reading this with out reading JADE first.
> 
> **Coral:** In Hindu astrology Coral is said to create many virtues like: courage, perseverance, capability to face and solve circumstances and problems and enables a man to take risks. It can removes obstacles in the way of their fortunes and increases their influences. Anyone who is troubled by enemies is advisable to wear Coral. It is also said that anyone wearing would not have to fear evil spirits. This gemstone is also an ideal gem for a happy marital life.
> 
> **Links:** The story is coded so that some words are linked to other sites, these links will open in a new window so you won't lose your place. You don't have to open the links to make sense of the story, so it's completely optional.
> 
> **Archiving & Rec’s:** I’ve started to come across sites like “booklikes” and “bookreads” and what not, where my stories have been archived by creating an author account using my “pen name” and then linking to my story.
> 
> As happy as it makes me when people love my stories so much they want to share it with others. I do **NOT** appreciate when you create different accounts using my “pen name” and making it out to be “my account”. I have five accounts that I use in fandom those are; 
> 
> My private livejournal: [Xenodike](http://xenodike.livejournal.com/)  
> My fic journal: [xen_fic](http://xen-fic.livejournal.com/)  
> My tumblr: [xenodike82](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xenodike82)  
> My twitter [xenodike1982](https://twitter.com/xenodike1982)  
> My AO3: [Xenodike](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenodike/profile)
> 
> The only place I post and archive my stories are at [xen_fic](http://xen-fic.livejournal.com/) and my [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenodike/profile)
> 
> I’m _thrilled_ when people love my stories and all rec's on twitter, tumblr etc are _very_ appreciated but these are **MY** stories, I love to share them with you all, but **I** created them and I demand the right to decide where they are archived and where I as the author have an account. 
> 
> If you know of an archive or site you’d love to see my stories archived at, send me a message, I will check the site out and decide for myself, if I want an account there or not. I’m usually very generous with my stories, I never deny a request to translate one of them and I try very hard to make sure my stories can be accessed through all new media like kindle etc. **BUT** there is a lot of blood, sweat and tears behind every story and I feel very uncomfortable when I don’t know where my “pen name” and stories are archived and how they’re being used. 
> 
> I’ve contacted all the sites where these accounts have been created and asked them to take them down. I realize that the people behind this did not mean any offense or intend to make me feel uncomfortable, but honestly, it’s just common courtesy and a sign of respect that you get permission from the content creator before using their work. My stories are **not** public property, they’re **mine** , and I gladly, _gladly_ , share them with you all, but they are still **mine**. 
> 
> From now on, if I find that someone has made one of these accounts and I can track you down, I’m sorry, but I will block you from my AO3 and my fic journal. I don’t want to do it, because honestly, writing without having people to share it with, is boring. But if that’s what it takes for me to protect my right to have control over my own stories, I will do it. 
> 
> Please understand that I cherish every reader! Every comment, every rec, is like being wrapped up in a blanket of love while being hand fed Godiva chocolate by Jensen himself. _Please_ , don’t ruin that for me.

 

It's an accepted truth that every good story, has a beginning, a middle and an end. The story spins some character development, some stunning revelations, some surprising turns in the plot, and hopefully some romance thrown in as well, preferably of the steamy kind.  It all  comes together neat and tidy with a satisfying "the end" and that's that, a story told in three acts and everyone's satisfied. 

 

Unless, of course, everyone is _not_ satisfied. Maybe questions are left unanswered or the fate of the characters still unsure; then there is always hope for a sequel. But really a sequel is just another story made from the same mold: three acts, beginning, middle and "the end".  Life doesn't follow a single plotline, from point A to point B, before another one begins. It's usually an untidy heap of different plots at the same time, all jumbled up together in lines so entwined and intricate you can't tell where one begins and the other ends.

 

In a story you have a birds view, you can see all the threads. In life all the threads hang loose and as a character you don't always see everyone else and there are so many damn roads you can take and none of them are paved with yellow bricks. The thing is life is not an endless line of sequels, and Jared's not one of the Hardy Boys or Nancy freaking Drew. Life is one continuous long story that doesn't just come to a halt when one plotline comes to an end.

 

But say that life were a story, made up of continuous sequels, god only knows what book Jared would be on now, maybe... 

  

 

Jared Padalecki

 

Book twelve-hundred and eighty-seven

 

_The Case of the Evil Foster Parents_  

 

You're not saying this wouldn't be a good story. It probably would, but life, if lived right, has more than three acts. The plot twists, fun as they are, are not always solved and handled as neat and tidy as in a story. 

So what might start out as one story (selective mute, orgasms, art thief's, orgasms, kidnapping, orgasms, insecure pretty Jensen, orgasms, past abuse, orgasms, sex, orgasms, love, orgasms, FBI, orgasms, postcard, orgasms, tropical island, orgasms, kitten, a lot of orgasms, happily ever after, so many orgasms...) sometimes turns into another.  This one for example, "The Case of the Evil Foster Parents", begins (as a good sequel should) where the first story ends: on a white beach, with a happy but seriously dysfunctional couple (having lots of orgasms), and with unanswered questions waiting to be answered...

 

Jared Padalecki is not a murderer. You’ve killed, sure, lots of times. If you have to, you’ll kill, but you’ve never murdered someone, though you will be the first to admit that maybe the "have to" part is just a little bit... unclear. Unfortunately for you, people tend to get in the way, and that's not ok in Jared-land. So if someone gets in the way, you will get that person out of the way, in whichever way is most practical.

 

Killing someone is, however, not always the most practical thing, and leaving a trail of bodies behind is generally more of a nuisance than a practical solution. Sure, the person can't give a statement, but then a dead body, all by itself, is generally a big-ass statement.  In Jared-land, it's never about the killing.Killing is more a means to an end: you don't enjoy it, but you don't cry yourself to sleep over it either.You don't really care one way or the other, but you're not in it for the body count.  And really, it's not like it's Mother Theresa you're dropping; generally you don't kill the "in-betweeners", the people who just happen to be there.Knocking them out is often enough. The people you kill are usually the ones who would gladly put a bullet in your head or in someone else's.  So, you'll kill without remorse, but you're not a murderer, and you've never planned someone's death just for the sake of killing. Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?

 

 

 

 

_ You can feel him here and your fists clench and unclench as you observe your surroundings. You expected the concrete walls to be gray but they're not: they're lavender. It explains a lot of long interior design discussion you've had with Jensen, and why he hates the color purple, or any color even remotely close to that shade, with a fiery passion. _

 

 

 

 

Jensen never talks about his past, not that Jensen really talks at all. Well okay, he's making big, big progress with the whole talking thing, but he doesn't string long sentences together and he certainly doesn't talk about life-before-Jared. Honestly, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that wherever Jensen came from, it wasn't pretty. 

 

The thing is, you, Jared, would like to say that a shitty childhood is the reason you and Jensen work, that you fit together because you understand each other, can relate. But you can't. The honest-to-god truth is that, unlike Jensen, you have no excuse for the way you are. You grew up in an average family, one mom, one dad, one brother and one sister. They had an average size house, on an average suburban street. Your parents had average jobs and made an average amount of money. You were loved, and everything was just... average. You hate average.  The predictability, nine to five, suburbia and all that shit,you just hate it, for no particular reason. Which is a lie, of course, there's no such thing as "for no particular reason". Everything has a reason, everything has a beginning, and so do you. You didn't spring from the ground all made-up and ready. There's a reason you ended up the way you are. 

 

That reason has a name, several names in fact, as you've so very clearly been told all through your childhood and adolescence. Told in very clear terms, in too-bright rooms, with too many tests, too many cards with inkblots, and too many "how do you feel about that, Jared?" questions that have always made you want to either laugh at their stupidity or hurl at their ignorance.  In the beginning you really did try to take it seriously, wanted to try to at least pretend that your mother’s worried frown made you care, wanted to pretend that, like her and your father, you too were worried or at least saw a problem with not quite "fitting in"  So you answered their questions, as best as you could, but an inkblot really just looks like an inkblot. If you use your imagination, you can, of course, see shapes and forms, and find a likeness to all manner of things, but it's really just an inkblot. You tried to tell them that but they wouldn't accept it so, in the beginning, you said it looked like clouds and shit. It seemed like a safe, average type of answer. 

 

After a while, it just got boring. One or maybe two tests, , but they wouldn't give you a good reason for playing along and, really, you can't go to doctors and talk to shrinks forever because of "not quite fitting in" without starting to get fed-up.  Really, how many times did you have to say that hurting puppies wasn't something you particular felt like doing, and that it certainly was not something you’d do for fun. Funny how they kept asking about puppies and not humans...  It's probably best they hadn’t: those first few years, when you still tried to answer questions honestly, you probably would have said something to get yourself in a shitload of trouble. 

 

Around thirteen, you got seriously fed-up. After that all inkblots looked like vaginas, which, apart from amusement at the doctors’ obvious discomfort and annoyance, became even funnier when they found you, a year later, making out with a participant in your mandatory therapy group, a very _male_ participant. Seeing them trying to figure that one out, now that was fun! That summer you worked your ass off mowing lawns and, for your first therapy session that fall, you brought Prozac, your new golden retriever puppy.You kind of always have to have the last word. 

 

So yeah, there's a reason that you are the way you are, and, depending on which of your past doctors you ask, it's either high functioning Asperger’s, narcissism, one or more types ofempathy disorders, several types of personality disorders, or high functioning  [ antisocial personality disorder ](http://www.wisegeek.com/what-is-antisocial-personality-disorder.htm) . So, it's a pretty mixed review. Although none of them could find a reason why, the only thing they could all agree on was that something about you was just... wrong.  You think all those doctors can just go fuck themselves. That's why you hate average. Because you don't fit in the average mold, you're not a drooling idiot like everyone else, settling for anything, and loving everyone around you, then apparently you're "wrong". 

 

You decided pretty early on that, let them call you wrong, let them diagnose you and prod you and ask you their stupid questions.Fine. Honestly, you could live through it all because you figured out, early on, that they'd never accept you if you were not like everyone else. So why even try?  There was no point, so you decided to do the opposite: smile and toy with them, all the while making damn sure you'd never be anything like them, making sure that you'd become someone, something, that you'd be special. 

 

So now you’re a thief, and a damn good one at that. You make a shitload of money, are co-owner of a private tropical island, and are built like a Greek fucking god.You do what you have to, and get what you want, anything not to be average.  You have no high moral standards, no qualms about right or wrong. In fact, the Jared philosophy on morality and all that shit is very simple: if you want something, take it, and if others try to stop you, stop them instead.  It's all pretty fucked up, and you know it. That's why you sometimes wish to have an excuse, like Jensen, but you don't. There's no buried childhood trauma in your closet, just a bunch of sad desperate people who couldn't accept that sharing the same DNA didn't automatically mean they deserved your love or consideration. 

 

Looking at Jensen, you figure there are two kinds of fucked-up people: those who go through hell and still manage to emerge as good people (fucked-up, sure, but still good); and then there are those, like you, who have it all and still manage to turn sour.  You’re not evil… bad, maybe, but not evil.You just don't possess that default ability to care about unknown people.You’re not evil, just a selfish, narcissistic dick who really doesn't give a shit about anyone else—well, you do care about a few people, with Jensen at the top of that very short list. I n Jared-land, priorities go like this: you, Jensen, your friends and then nothing. Your family should probably have made that list, but they're so fucking average. Hell, even Jenjen has more personality then they do.So, yeah, Jenjen totally makes the list but they don't. Of course, Jenjen is one special cat, much smarter than any other cat. Or maybe it's just because Jensen loves him so much.

 

Jensen makes most things special.

 

This thing with Jensen, though, that's one of the things you aren’t sure about. Obviously it's good for you, but in general, from that elusive moral perspective, you don't know if what you’ve done is right or wrong.  Technically, you took Jensen against his will... but, on the other hand, Jensen changed his mind about the "against his will" part, after a while.Anyway, it's not like you took him from someone, or something. And you did let him go!Jensen's here of his own free will. And anyway, his life is better now. You’ve made Jensen happier, well actually you’ve made Jensen happy, and now you can start working on making him happier.  But again, technically you stole him. Stole him even though there was no way of knowing how it would end and even though everyone else said that you shouldn't.  Honestly though, you'd all been doing recon on that museum for months. That night in the museum was certainly not the first night you saw Jensen. 

 No, the first time you saw Jensen was in a photograph Chad had stolen from the museum employee database.

 

 

 

 

_ Who _ _ ’ _ _ s that?” You can hear your own voice turning rough as the shy green eyes look up at you from the photograph.They are piercing.  _

 

_ “ _ _ Jensen Ackles - he works in maintenance.” You can see, around the table, three sets of eyes looking at you from below disapproving brows. _

 

_ “ _ _ Jesus.” You can't help yourself. Pretty, pretty, pretty, you love pretty.  _

 

_ “ _ _ Jared.” It's Chris’ voice, soft and calm but with a slight undertone of steel. _

 

_ “ _ _ What?” You try to sound unaffected, uncaring, you know you're failing miserably.  _

 

_ “ _ _ Nothing, as long as you remember why we _ _ ’ _ _ re doing this.” _

 

_ “ _ _ Hey, who came up with this plan in the first place? I know what we _ _ ’ _ _ re doing. _ _ ” _ _ You know perfectly well. You're gonna steal a bunch of really valuable paintings, make a shitload of money, and then retire comfortably.  _

 

_ “ _ _ Good, keep it that way.” You kind of want to punch him, in fact you want to punch all of them for even implying that you'd risk anything. After all, you're only looking... _

 

_ “ _ _ Hey, give that back. Chris, I _ _ ’ _ _ m warning you.” ... and looking never hurt anyone.  _

 

_ “ _ _ Not a chance. I _ _ ’ _ _ m confiscating this picture until the job's finished.” Bastard! _

 

_ “ _ _ So now I can _ _ ’ _ _ t even look? _ _ ” _

 

_ “ _ _ No! God! I knew I shouldn't _ _ ’ _ _ t have shown you this one.”  _

 

_ “ _ _ What _ _ ’ _ _ s that supposed to mean?”  _

 

_ “ _ _ It means that everyone, especially me, knows that you _ _ ’ _ _ ve got it bad for the pretty, and this one here is just as pretty as it gets.” Yeah he is— pretty, pretty, pretty, come to daddy, here pretty, pretty, pretty.  _

 

_ “ _ _ Ok, I _ _ ’ _ _ m man enough to admit my weaknesses; doesn't _ _ ’ _ _ t mean I was gonna do anything stupid. You know I wouldn't risk a job just for the pretty.”You wouldn't. You just want to look a bit more.  _

 

_ “ _ _ I know. Just reminding you.” You really don't need reminding; you know what you're doing. Damn Chris and his domestic bliss anyway.  _

 

_ “ _ _ Unless...” Would it really be that unthinkable? Maybe ... _

 

_ “ _ _ No, Jared. We _ _ ’ _ _ re not stealing him.”  _

 

_ “ _ _ You _ _ ’ _ _ re no fun.” ... damn him to hell! _

 

 

Honestly you almost turn into a stalker—well okay, so you turn into stalker of the year. It isn't very hard for you, seeing as Jensen goes from his apartment, to work, from work to the café where he buys his breakfast, to the park, and then back home. Every day, except on days off, when he goes from the apartment to the park and then back to the apartment, some days stopping for groceries. I t should be boring. With two months in, you should be getting tired of seeing the same thing day in and day out, but your obsession just keeps growing.  And the worst part, or the best, is that Jensen doesn't know. He doesn't see how people look at him, doesn't see men and women sitting close or trying to talk to him. He doesn't see them at all, just hurries along in his own world. So naturally he doesn't see you either, you don't even have to try and be discreet, you can walk beside him on the street, stand behind him in line so close you can see tiny tendrils of sweat running down his neck, lower and lower, until it disappears beneath the collar of his shirt, sit down next to him on the bus to and from work. 

 

You have a feeling that, one day, Jensen is going to go through old photos from that particular time, and you're willing to bet a lot of money that you can probably be spotted in quite a few of them.  Once, you even sit down next to him so close you can feel the warmth of his body seeping through the fabric of his clothes.  But still, despite your obsession, and Jensen's uniqueness, the whole stealing-people thing really wasn't planned. It wasn't! 

It was just luck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_It's been thirteen years since Jensen left this place but still you can feel and see him everywhere in this damp, cold room. A sound from one of the corners makes you look over at the ratty old sofa in the corner and the tied-up old couple on it._

_They’re dying tonight and they know it. They just don’t know how yet._

_As you were saying, it's pretty obvious that Jensen's past was a bad one, and though you always knew it was not good, now you **know.** _

_Of course, Jensen didn't just miraculously start talking about it all one day. No, you've pieced it all together from the titbits of information given to you over time._

 

 

The first clue that Jensen's childhood was pretty fucked-up happened at the beach, and it went a little something like this:

The great thing about owning and living on your own private Caribbean island is that you're literally living _on_ a beach in paradise. Like **on** , on a beach. So, in your world that of course means swimming and just generally being in the crystal clear turquoise water — a lot.

So, when Jensen doesn't spend as much time in the water as you do, well, that’s just not right, and everyone else agrees.Even Jeff, who's new to Jensen’s quirks, agrees that Jensen not being in the water is just wrong, especially considering that Jensen being in the water a lot would mean a lot of mostly undressed Jensen, and that would be a very good thing. Yes, you knows you're supposed to be all caveman-like and "don't look at my half-naked Jensen," but really, what's the point of having something unique if everyone else around you isn't green with envy?

If you got it, flaunt it, and if someone is an idiot and tries to take it from you, kill them.

But anyway, back to Jensen and water.So you all talk it over, (meaning you and the guys, not you and Jensen) and all agree that it is a clear case of Jensen not knowing how to enjoy himself. Since he's all bad at it and stuff, you clearly have to show him.

So Jared arms himself with his exceptional charm and a few well-used winnings smiles, produced at the opportune moments, (right after orgasms -- that's orgasm _s_ , the ’ _s’_ at the end being crucial here) and soon you have Jensen in a small boat and things are going just as planned.

In fact, it goes splendidly according to plan, up until the moment you all, as a joke, toss Jensen overboard. Slowly you start to realize that the coughing and waving are not sign language for "Yay, I'm having a great time in the water," and are actually more likely to be something like "I'm drowning here, stupid!"

When Jensen's head sinks below the surface, you finally gets your ass in gear and go all Baywatch (if the men on Baywatch had been extremely tall, muscular and uber-hot, and not a bunch of pussies in ugly shorts, splashing in the water), swimming over to Jensen, getting hold of him and getting him safely to land, saving his life. You admit, you can't really take any credit for saving his life since you’re the one who almost got Jensen killed in the first place.

It’s a pretty good reason, you think, why you freak and start screaming, after Jensen has finally coughed all the water out of his lungs and you’ve made sure a few hundred times that he's ok and not dying or dead or damaged in any way.

"How could you not tell me you can't swim?! We live on a damn _island_ , if you can't swim I need to know!"

Of course you regret yelling as soon as you’ve finished because you can't scream at Jensen; Jensen is soft and lovely, and so, _so_ pretty and you just can't scream at him.

But then Jensen screams back and you have to stop thinking about everything else to concentrate on what Jensen just said.

"Of course I can't swim! I grew up locked in a damn basement Jared, when the hell would I ever have learned how to swim?!"

 

Jensen does learn how to swim, eventually, but sadly you can't take any credit for that either.You all try to teach him, of course, but you're too easily distracted by soft naked skin.So are Chris and Steve -- and really, looking is one thing but touching, well they're your closest friends, and it really would be a shame to have to kill them. Chad doesn't have the patience, but Jeff does.Jeff is wise and solid, patient and soft enough round the edges to make Jensen trust him enough to go into the water with him.

You don't know how that would change if Jensen knew that the man gently guiding him through the motions of swimming is actually one of the most successful hit-men this century, with a body count of something like five-hundred.

You never really know with Jensen; he's got his own way of seeing good and bad and morality. Unlike you and the others, Jensen's got a pretty clear view of right and wrong which he doesn't stray from, but that doesn't mean it naturally complies with general society's version.

Jensen's a lot more straight-forward than most, and if you're good to him he'll just take you for a good person. He doesn't really seem to care how you treat the rest of the world, but then, considering how the rest of the world has treated him, why would he?

So Jensen goes into the water with Jeff and learns how to swim, which is kind of awesome and gives you a mushy feeling inside that you're not really used to. You think it could grow on you-- as long as it's just Jensen, ’cause you really don't think you could stand feeling like that about someone else.

But for Jensen it's worth it.

It’s worth it, even more so, when Jensen starts to blush ever time Jeff come around and you realise Jensen has a crush (daddy issues _obviously_ ), but it's adorable. Adorable up until the point when you tease him about it, and then Jensen breaks down and clings to you, promising that he loves only you and he so sorry, but he'll never ever leave you, you're everything and he's so, so sorry. Then it stops being adorable and funny.

Jensen's distraught over something you thought was cute. That's not funny. It's so not funny that you have to hold him gently, as you show him that you're not angry, that finding someone other than Jared attractive is okay as long as it doesn't go any further than that. That you're not angry or worried because you know he will never leave you.

And you _know_ , Jensen will never leave. You're what's anchoring him to a life instead of an existence: Jensen is yours completely.

That might be kind of ... wrong, but, honestly, who gives a fuck?Obviously, your relationship isn't healthy. You're not healthy people. But you're happy, Jensen's happy, so who cares if it's right (and all that other shit people mention when talked about a healthy relationship). You may be wrong together, for various reasons, but you're both wrong separately in the eyes of society, so fuck their rules.

 

 

Jensen goes from being scared of water to being obsessed with it. His world has always been small and isolated, and now suddenly he's discovered an entirely new universe full of life and otherworldly beauty, without people. When Jensen discovers underwater cameras, well...

You take a boat over to Beef Island, ask around and find the best diving instructor money can buy. You explain about Jensen, about how he needs softness and patience, and finally you are waving two thick stacks of bills, one for teaching and one for discretion. The instructor-- Jim . . . Tim . . . Kim . . . something-im -- takes both stacks, assuring him that discretion is "my middle name" and not to worry, he's used to catering for the rich and powerful and their need for privacy.   

It is, of course, one of the reasons you chose this part of the world to settle down: an area where people owning their own islands isn't a strange occurrence, and no one asks questions when you wave thousands of dollars around and ask for complete privacy with an iron hard "don't ask don't tell policy". Of course this policy is more about don't-ask-where-the-money-came-from instead of something mundane as whom you happen to be sleeping with. Well, mundane if you weren’t Jared, in which case the answer to the question is really exciting and perfect and unique.

But anyway, so you hire a diving instructor and pay him a ridiculous amount of money, but Jensen learns to dive, which makes it all so worthwhile. Anyway, there's no such thing as paying too much for something that will make Jensen happy.  

It does make Jensen happy. So happy, in fact, that your time with him is seriously cut short.Becoming obsessed with water and diving while living on a Caribbean island, smack in the middle of one of the world's best diving sights, is kind of asking for trouble... or a neglected boyfriend.

So, considering the situation, retired, boyfriend time seriously diminished, no big heist to plan, no naked skin distraction, you get bored. Bored, bored, bored.   Boredom, combined with a genuine curiosity about Jensen's past, well, brings you here.

 

 

Their last name is Johnson.It's so fucking mundane and average that you want to puke. Considering the amount of information you now have on Jensen, thanks to Chad's hacking skills, finding the Johnsons wasn't really all that difficult.

A social security number is all you need. It opens a world of medical history, school grades, social service documents . . .Really looking at the information you’ve gathered, letting it form a picture in your mind . . . well, you’re not a happy camper at by end of it.For the first time, you actually sit down and start to piece Jensen together.

The Jensen Files

Name: Jensen Ackles.

Parents: Donna and Alan Ackles, family involved in fatal car accident, Jensen nine months, only survivor.  

History:

No other living relatives, transferred to the care of social services Richmond Texas, at 11 months placed in foster care with Harry Johnson 59 years and Edith Johnson 57 years. Foster parents described as financially secure, well respected and known for their high moral standards, considered pillars of their local community...   and so on...

Pillars of the community. . . sure.Somehow you seriously doubt that. Going through Jensen’s medical records is like reading a history of violence. By Jensen's seventh year he's been treated for undernourishment, four broken bones, two cases of pneumonia, unexplained burns, and two concussions. After the age of seven, Jensen suddenly never needs medical attention again. After what you've just read, you're pretty sure at least someone at the hospital must have notified social services. But there's no way of knowing, true or not, but the one thing that's painstakingly obvious is that no one did anything about it.

 

_ _

 

_Your musings into Jensen’s past are interrupted by a sound from the opposite corner of the room. You look over just in time to see Chad walking past you carrying some of your supplies. Oh yeah, Chad's here too; in fact, Jensen is the only one from your little paradise community who isn't here._

_Jensen doesn't know anything about this, he's with Jim/Kim/Tim watching[green sea turtles](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TGoayx3Hvo4) have babies or something like that.You’d be jealous, if it wasn't for the fact that Jim/Kim/Tim is seriously hooked on vagina. Although he’s also seriously smitten by Jensen, it's in a bromance way and is innocent enough for you to feel secure . . . after the little talk you had. That is, you talked, ?im listened, and Jeff stood in a corner holding a really big gun. _

_You think you kind of really like ?im.The guy's got balls.You think Jeff really likes him too, and it'll be fun to see how long the whole Vagina phase lasts ifJeff decides he should get over it._

_You weren’t the only one bored by retirement, and with it being a very small island, pretty quickly you had lots of help tracking Jensen’s past. That of course led to more than just you being pissed off and, ergo, you're all here._

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

With Jensen's new found love of diving and discovery of underwater life, comes a big, big interest in ecology and in the effect of humanity on the planet. Jensen never really does anything half-assed; he's either not interested, or he’s all in. Suddenly your home is flooded with papers and flyers and posters with pictures of different types of corals and tropical fishes.

 

 

Jensen joins the [WWF](http://wwf.panda.org/) and becomes even more upset when he realises that not only are marine turtles on the list of most endangered species but so are several species of whales and dolphins as well as [tigers](http://wwf.panda.org/what_we_do/endangered_species/tigers/) of course Jensen gets upset about the [rhino](http://wwf.panda.org/what_we_do/endangered_species/rhinoceros/), g[reat apes](http://wwf.panda.org/what_we_do/endangered_species/great_apes/), and [pandas](http://wwf.panda.org/what_we_do/endangered_species/giant_panda/) on the list as well as all the other animals, but the thought of ninety-seven percent of the worlds tigers being killed over the course of a century actually makes him cry. 

 

It seriously ruins your day; Jensen crying is a really bad thing in your world and you make a note to yourself to look into the poaching business and see if you can't convince some old "friends" to put a few holes in it.

 

Jensen joins [Greenpeace](http://www.greenpeace.org/international/en/) and suddenly you're being forced to arrange for an insanely expensive recycling service that comes to pick up your recycled trash. One trashcan turns into a number of marked bins, for metal, hard plastic, soft plastic, cardboard, electronics and so on. You get a compost bin and Jensen forbids you all to use any products that aren't clearly marked as environmentally safe.It sounds kind of ridiculous considering who you all are, but, as it turns out, four retired art thieves, each with a pretty substantial body count, and a legendary hit man are helpless against Jensen on a mission. 

 

After that, it's solar panels and wind turbines, to make you self sufficient in electricity. Jensen insists you hire a firm to create your own water purifying system. You don't understand it, but apparently you're now reusing your water and purifying it through a system of ponds... it's all very boring, but it makes Jensen happy. Jensen put a time limit on showers; baths are deemed evil and completely unforgivable since you "live on the damn beach Jared!"Jensen's exact words. 

 

You all learn not to protest too much.When Steve implies that maybe it'd be nice to actually be able to have a bath in water that isn't the Caribbean Sea, Jensen goes and fetches a map of the island, highlighting the north beach.

 

 

He thrusts the map at Steve and points at the name adorning the north side of blue water, where the word Atlantic Ocean screams at them in bold yellow letters, and you can see Steve actually cringe as Jensen says "Not the Caribbean Sea!"

 

The compost comes in handy when Jensen decides that all vegetables and fruits not grown on the island are weapons of chemical mass destruction.For a while the five of you walk around on eggshells, terrified of the day when Jensen will declare that you're now all vegans - and honestly you'd go vegan because well, Jensen said so. Jensen usually gets what he wants, and funnily enough none of you really question it.

 

Jensen doesn't make you all go vegan.He does, however, decide that all meat needs to come from cruelty-free ecological suppliers, from a facility where Jensen, in person, can inspect that the animal had a good life, before being humanly euthanized and then eaten. You don't even want to think about how long _that_ little round trip took. 

 

Suffice it to say, you never really considered the implications of having two unique people in one house, and you sure as hell never imagined that Jensen would be the one coming out on top, with you bending to his every whim. In retrospect you kind of should have guessed that Jensen would have a pretty profound effect on your life and you as a person, what with the whole obsession thing and how a big part of your life has revolved around him since you first saw him. So, really, you shouldn't be surprised.  You do however, for a short time, consider the benefits of dating an average person: average people know they're average and are thankful for people like you giving them attention.  Unique people, on the other hand, are a freaking pain in the ass and just assume that you'll do whatever they want, and you should know, you’re fucking unique! 

 

It kind of pisses you off.You’re not used to bending to someone else's will, and now you’re the one bending over backwards to cater to Jensen's every whim. And--what the hell?! --you have a freaking giant whiteboard mounted on your kitchen wall because Jensen, despite his progress with talking, still won't fucking string sentences together.  For a short moment you question what the hell you were thinking, sending Jensen that damn postcard invitation to your island.  That thought last about a millisecond, because at that precise moment a shadow falls over your face and when you look up you see Jensen walking up the porch, fresh from a dive.

 

Jensen is probably the most intuitive person you've ever meet, or maybe, he's drawn to you just like you are to him, and because of that he unconsciously tunes into your moods and emotions. Either way, it seems like he always knows what you want or need. Even better, since Jensen not big with words, he usually handles your moods in a more practical manner.  He's not shy, your boy, not here in your own private part of the world, and not with his body. He's generous and, as a result of your greed and avid encouragement, he's turning into quite the little hedonist. 

 

Walking over to you he unzips his wetsuit and wiggles out of it right there on the sunlit porch, his skin, damp from salt water, glistening as if his suntanned skin is covered in gold dust.  You forget about the whiteboard and your ranting as he comes within reach and you take hold of his waist, pulling Jensen down to straddle you on the sofa.His soft lips are swollen from being wrapped around a regulator mouthpiece, they taste like salt and adventure, and his green eyes shine like they always do when he comes back on solid ground, twinkling with excitement or wonder. You busy yourself licking the salt from his skin as Jensen reaches one hand down between two seat cushions before pulling it back up again, this time triumphantly clutching a much needed bottle.You caress the back of his neck, letting the soft touch transform into a steady hold keeping his mouth just where you want it. 

 

It's at moments like these you really appreciate that you bought an island which provides you all with your own beaches, in your own private little coves, hidden from each other.  That way, you can sit here on your front porch with your beach shorts pooled around your ankles, the only love you've ever had naked in your lap. Over his bronzed shoulder, you watch the turquoise water turn into white foam as it slowly crashes into the glistening sand below and then slowly retreats in a hypnotic rocking motion which the two of you soon follow as Jensen slowly sinks down on you and rides you right there.

 

After that, you really don't care what Jensen makes you do. You’re fine with Jensen's obsessions, with waking up to find the whiteboard covered in Jensen's carefully handwritten Greenpeace slogans, such as:

 

** Dead ocean, Dead Planet **

 

** European Fisheries - Size DOES matter! **

 

**No fish - No future**

 

Or in your face facts like: 

 

** Oceans cover 71% of our planet’s surface and make up 95% of all the space available to life. **

 

** The oceans also have a huge influence on us landlubbers. They Oceans ** **produce 70% of our oxygen, absorb heat and re-distribute it around the world, and dominate the world's weather systems.**

 

Another few weeks and it's starting to get a little bit out of hand. You wonder why he didn’t just tape the Greenpeace pamphlet to the whiteboard instead.

 

** Solid garbage gets into the ocean. Plastic bags, balloons, glass bottles, shoes, packaging material . . . everything we throw away can reach the sea. “Plastic garbage . . . mistaken for food . . . High concentrations . . . blocking the breathing passages and stomachs . . . including whales, dolphins, seals, puffins, and turtles. Plastic six-pack rings . . . choke marine animals. “This garbage . . . pollutes beaches and other coastal habitats. **

 

** In the pacific ocean there's a. . . floating continent made up from garbage TWICE the size of North Am. . . **

 

**A CONTINENT OF GARBAGE JARED!!! IF YOU TAKE A DAMN WATERBOTTLE WITH YOU WHEN YOU LEAVE THE HOUSE, TAKE IT BACK WITH YOU AND PUT IT IN THE RECYKLINGBIN, DON'T LEAVE IT ON THE BEACH!!!**

 

** A CONTINENT OF GARBAGE!!!" **

 

You’ve learnt to cope with his quirks: you just turn around, walk him into the bedroom and spend the morning screwing him stupid. You spend the rest of the day admiring his beautiful bowed legs and how they're just a little bit more bowed today than they were yesterday. And besides, if Jensen can see beyond the thief and killer part of you, then you really ought to cut him some slack with the whole eco-avenger thing he's into now. 

 

 

 

You have a cleaner who comes over a few times a month.She's a darling and patient with Jensen, even when he replaces all her cleaning supplies with vinegar and baking soda and gives her a book on natural cleaning supplies.  One day she's sick, so she sends her sister instead.Her sister cleans for on of the big resorts on one of the other islands, a resort that Jensen fondly has named kingdom of chemical waste.  He might not be completely incorrect, since she brings her own supplies and, well, it just doesn't end well. After a long discussion, ending with an all-important victory for your ego and over all manliness,Jensen lets the poor woman clean your home, under protest, and not before letting you know that she'll undoubtedly poison your home which will lead to unspeakable ecological damage. You, being a condescending asshole, do your best to kiss his concerns away, petting him softly while saying that he's totally overreacting and that just this once a little chemically based household cleaning product isn't going to cause a disaster. 

 

Of course, you're so horribly, _horribly_ wrong.

 

In the sister’s defence she really thought she was doing a good thing; to her not-so-much- defence, you really think that a person who handles that many chemicals, on a daily basis, should know not to mix ammonia and Clorox. She should have known that mixing those two agents would cause a chemical reaction leading to the creation of chloramine gas which is just nasty. It'll burn your eyes and skin and seriously fuck up your airways, kept in an airtight room and exposed for a certain amount of time it could damage your lungs beyond repair.  Kept locked in an airtight room for even longer, it could kill you.  Over all exposure to chloramine gas is a nasty experience and one you should avoid; so again, maybe she didn't mean to do it but she did, and the consequences were so far from pretty that you can't even find a word to describe it. 

 

 

She starts in the bathroom. You're in the kitchen/dining.Actually all of you are: Jensen is sulking, prettily, of course, and is checking his diving gear, hell bent on getting out of the house as long as the  [Lysol queen](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lysol%20) is in the house; the rest of your little co-operative is waiting around for him to leave, so you can all dig a little further into his past.  For you it just begins with an unpleasant smell, then a slight burning sensation in your nose, but by then Jensen has already stumbled out of the house coughing and gasping for air.In the split second it takes for you to react to Jensen's condition, get up and run out to him, he's already collapsed to his knees outside on the wooden deck and has started to empty his breakfast over the edge down on the sand, all while shaking uncontrollably, with tears running down his face and this blind panic in his eyes that you've never seen before.

You get the situation under control pretty damn fast: in ten minutes the root of the problem is found, all the windows and doors open so the house can air out. Only, you can't help because you're too busy carrying Jensen down on the beach and away from the smell which is still making him gag violently, even long after he's emptied his stomach of anything that can come back up again. Vomiting notwithstanding, you all handle the situation very efficiently, a group effort – like a job.You sit on the sand holding Jensen while the others make sure there's not a trace of anything chemical in your house whatsoever. In a moment of total déjà –vu, Steve comes down at some point, leaving food and a thermos of Jensen’s favourite coffee. Only that's where the similarities end with that first time on the shoreline of a lake in the middle of the Montana wilderness, this time Jensen’s breakdown isn't fixed by an open air hand-job. 

You sit with him all day on the beach and when the sun sets and the house has been airing out for an entire day you pick him up and start walking back, only he won't go in the house. As soon as you even approach the door it's like that blind panic hits him again, and he starts thrashing in your arms until you have to sit down on the large sofa on your wooden deck just to make sure you won't drop him.  Jensen won't go into your house. No matter what you or anyone else does or says, he just won't go inside.  In the end, Chris brings out your comforter and you sleep with Jensen huddled close on the couch on the wooden deck.You figure one night is fine.You live in the tropics after all, it's not like its cold. 

 

Only, it's not one night; it's a whole bunch of them.  All in all, it takes almost three weeks of airing out your house before Jensen finally can step inside again without turning into a shivering mess. 

 

It’s only later, when things have calmed, that Jensen's extreme reaction to the gas starts to make you wonder.It starts mildly, almost like an itching sensation, like you forgot something, and then it ends with a sledgehammer coming down on your head with a Google search of the words ammonia, Clorox, abuse. Pretty soon you're made aware that all you really need is some ammonia, a little Clorox and an airtight room and you have your very own homemade gas chamber. The more you read the less absurd Jensen's reaction becomes. You think about possible scenarios that could trigger that kind of reaction and, well, you promote yourself from occasional killer to aspiring murderer.

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

_ You can hear, from the couch, the woman's crying and the man's laboured breathing as you walk around the basement, searching. You know it's here. You don't have any proof that would hold up in court, and have never talked to Jensen about it, but you know.  _

_ There are three doors in the basement, and the first one leads to a closet. Tucked into a dark corner of the closet is a small thin mattress with a threadbare blanket lying in a big lump on top of it, the stink of mould thick around it. You don't have to ask to know this was Jensen’s place. The second door leads to some kind of storeroom, shelf after shelf of canned goods and food in cardboards boxes, you close that door quickly and remind yourself to look into buying Jensen some more fruit trees for his orchard. _

_ The third door leads to a small windowless bathroom, and you don't even have to see the duck tape covering all the cracks and ventilation to know this is the place. The room is airtight, no air coming in none going out. Any substance trapped in this room would stay in this room. _

_ You look away, angry with yourself. _

_ You blame the whole "Save the whales" thing for distracting you, for you taking such a long time to understand the full magnitude of Jensen’s past abuse.If it weren’t for the maid, it would have taken you longer. _

_ Taking into account the stress you went through with Jensen’s major meltdown and the whole save-the-whales thing, you really think you deserve some slack for not taking so long to realize the severity of Jensen’s past abuse.  _

_ But you did figure it and now you’re here in this lavender hellhole, and these two people are going to die, in a very unpleasant way.  _

_ You turn around when you hear footsteps approaching behind you. They all come up to stand at your side: Steve and Chris to your left, Chad and Jeff to your right.  _

_ In the corner of your eye you can see Chad unconsciously move a little more to the right when his eye's meet Steve's.For a moment his face takes on that same look of utter horror, astonished surprise, and deep satiation all combined in to one, that you saw one early morning a few weeks back, when he stumbled, half-dressed,from Chris and Steve's house and walked towards his own. _

_ For a moment you smile a little to yourself, thinking of Chad with Chris and Steve, they're going to eat him alive. In the corner of your eye, you can see a smile forming on the lips of the men to your left as well, although theirs are more feral. Seriously, they are so damn freaky. _

_ Of course, considering where you are and what you're about to do, a little sexual deviancy really isn't such a big deal. _

_ Your momentary smile only lasts a second before all of your stray thoughts are pulled back to this basement and the airtight room you’re looking into. A minute of observation, maybe two, lets you take in the filthy tiles that probably were white at some point, and the concrete floor where there was some type of flooring once. You walk inside, and, you're not really sure why, but you take hold of the door, moving it as if to close it.The others follow you, so they see can the other side of the door, squishing in, even though the room really isn't big enough for everyone.  _

_ It's there of course, just like you knew, deep down, it would be.If the room felt too small before, and when your bone crushing rage enters, there's not even room to breathe. _

_ You do your best to crunch down in the overcrowded space, reaching out to trace your fingers over the scratches and marks, desperately clawed, punched, and kicked into the chipped paint of the door. You want to rip it from its hinges, throw it on the ground and burn it to ashes, but right now you need it, you console yourself with the fact that, when it's all over, it will burn. _

_ The marks on the door are like sparks igniting you all into action. Up until now it's been a power trip, but now it's a job that needs doing. This needs to end, these people needs to die, and this house needs to disappear, along with any living or material reminder of this part of Jensen's life. _

_ You know that this won't change anything for Jensen. What you all are doing is not for him, it’s for you, for your own damn peace of mind. It’s so you can put your head on your pillow at night, knowing that you've done everything possible to protect him, from the past, present and future.  _

_ It's about revenge too, Jensen's revenge for the hell they've put him through.Jensen’s too soft and pretty to do something like this, to do what needs to be done. You’re glad he’s not here; if Jensen could do this then he wouldn't be Jensen.  _

_ It's pretty likely Jensen will never even know you've been here, it's not like you're going to lie to him but you might not be all that forthcoming with certain information. If he should ask you'll give him an answer... of sorts. You'll probably leave out the gory details though.Jensen doesn't like gore.  _

_ Anyhow, the door sparks you into action, all of you.Steve disappears for a moment to retrieve the supplies Chad brought down earlier, and comes back carrying two large bottles, ammonia in one hand and Clorox in the other. _

_ When Steve returns, it's time. Jeff and Chris take hold of Harry and Edith, dragging them into the bathroom. They're already tied up pretty good but, as a final touch, Jeff decides to tie them together before propping them up into a sitting position against one of the far walls facing the rundown bathtub.  _

_ All of you gather at the threshold and look into the room, a few seconds later Steve hands you the two bottles. Slowly you walk into the tiny space, you place the bottles on the floor by the bathtub before bending down and putting the plug in the drain. From behind you Jeff enters and starts stripping off big pieces of duck tape that he slowly pastes over the drain, making sure that no liquid can escape the tub, it's a tight fit in the small room, but you make it work.  _

_ In the meantime you sit down on the edge of the bathtub and slowly start to unscrew the bottles, all the while looking right into each victim’s eyes, first one then the other. They're terrified, and you guess it's finally started to sink in, how they're going to die.  _

_ You stand up, looking down at the couple at your feet. They are disgusting, with their faces wet from tears, and snot running all over as they desperately try to breathe through their nose. Despite the duck tape covering their mouths, they still try to speak, but it all comes out as muffled sounds. Like you'd care about anything they had to say, like any of it would matter or would change anything.You scrunch your nose in disgust as you see a big wet spot forming on the front of Harry's pants. He would piss himself, the coward. _

_ Jeff stands up straight and slides out through the doorway, settling just outside of it besides the rest of your little team of avengers. _

_ With a bottle in each hand you turn and hold your hands out above the tub, and then you turn the bottles, letting the chemicals pour and mix together. You don't have a lot of time, the gas starts forming as soon as the liquids mix. As soon as the bottles are empty, you walk over to the door, stopping briefly in the doorway to look at the people in the room. You give them a small smile before speaking your first and only words to them.  _

_ "Jensen says hi." _

_ Then you close the door.  _

 

 

So, that's it: a clean, simple act of gruesome murder, a simple easy sequel in three acts.

It'd be a good end to the story, the crusading avengers (flawed characters but with hearts of gold) doing evil in the name of justice. The final scene could unfold in slow-motion as the five of you walk side by side, in the middle of an abandoned street, the wind making Chris and Steve's long hair flow behind them ~~prettily~~ in a very manly way. You'd be wearing one of those cool coats that flow behind you making you look really awesome, and then you'd all be lit up as the house explodes in a blaze of fire behind you, ending the story with a literal bang. 

Of course, again, life isn't a straight line of sequels and your life is not directed nor is it the creation of scriptwriters. As unique and unordinary as it may be, it's still a real life and, in real life, shit happens, most of it completely unexpected. Plotlines don't end and what starts out as one story morphs into another along the way. 

 

Jared Padalecki

Book twelve-hundred and (still) eighty-seven.

_~~ The case of the evil foster parents ~~ _

_ An unexpected complication _

 

The thing about revenge is that there is always an emotional investment. Emotions make you rash and less attentive than you should be. So, of course, since this is your life and not a Van Dame movie (you’re way better looking than him), there's a teeny tiny glitch in your perfect revenge. The teeny tiny glitch takes the shape of four sets of eyes hiding under that threadbare blanket in Jensen's old "room" that you’d thought was empty but— mother-fucker damn it all to fucking fuckety fuck—turned out not to be. Without the constant background noise of tears and muffled cries in your ears, a few muffled sounds are now audible! You already have Jenjen the cat, but Jensen would never, ever forgive you if you left them here, god damn it!

See, this is the problem with emotions and stuff: you care. Even though Jensen's not here, you feel this need to make sure things are done in a way that he wouldn't disagree with. 

If you just left them here, surely someone would make sure they were taken care of, but since you're gonna torch the place, you have to take them outside and that means leaving them on the sidewalk and then they'll get run over or something. They're not that smart after all. 

There's nothing to it, you're going to have to take them with you. Thank god for private planes and "friends" in customs or this would be really annoying.

 

You all try and come up with a good way to explain this sudden addition to your little dysfunctional community, and twenty-four hours later, when you set foot on Guana Island again, you think you have a pretty solid story. Or, it would have been a good story, had Jensen not been leaning against the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hands and his eyes glued on the small kitchen TV, as you all enter your house.

It's the news.It's the fucking news, not only is it the news, it's American news, and out of all the shit that happens in that country every day, apparently your particular murder was entertaining enough to make the headlines. 

Not that you care about the authorities.They'll never ever find you, because you don't exist, nor does anyone else on this island. It’s just one of the perks of having your own tamed hacker.They're annoying as hell (well, yours is, anyway) but if you want to disappear then you _really_ disappear.

But, see, this was meant to be Jensen’s revenge, only since he would never seek it, never ask for it, the question is: how will he feel about you doing it for him? You're not the only one who's nervous.All around you, you can hear feet shuffling, throats being cleared, and no one will really look at Jensen. 

With the last image of the burnt down house and the two body bags, the anchor's annoying voice stops yammering about horrific murder, bla-bla-bla, and Jensen's eyes leave the TV. He just looks at you, at all of you. 

The thing with Jensen is that he's got these eyes that just pierce through you. You didn't notice it in the beginning, mainly because he never dared look you in the eye, but now he does and it's intense. It's like he's stripping you bare, you and the rest of the people in the room. 

From the corner of your eye you can see a small sheen of sweet starting to break out on Chad's forehead. You wonder, in that tiny corner of your mind that isn’t preoccupied with Jensen’s reaction, how and when Jensen got this power over all of you. 

You almost jump at the sound of Jensen’s voice. Jensen talking is rare enough, and now, at this moment, it's completely unexpected. But the words . . . you have to smile, the words are so _Jensen_.

"Feel better?"

There's actual curiosity behind the words and, really, there's no need to pretend or try and come with lengthy explanations.

"Yeah."

A slight nod, a quiet "Okay" and then it's over. Jensen's decided he knows all he needs to.Apparently, it's okay with him that you've just murdered his abusive foster parents to feel better.

So that potential monsoon is averted, clean and simple, just the way you like it. 

The quiet sound of Jeff clearing his throat reminds you that -- oh yeah -- there’s just one more little thing (well, two little things) that needs to be dealt with. 

"So..." You try to clear your throat in a vain hope that it will make what you're about to say go smoother than you imagine. Unfortunately the sound doesn't drown out the other, more high pitched sounds coming from outside, on the porch. Those are the ones Jensen hears and decides to investigate. 

 

Jeff, Chris and the rest of them suddenly become very interested in blocking the doorway as Jensen walks towards it.It doesn't help, and soon you have a potential disaster on your hands as Jensen pushes past them and out on the porch.

 

As you follow him, you're not sure what to expect. Jensen's reactions are usually hard to predict. When you join him on the deck, he's standing in front of the couch staring down at the two squirming figures. 

You'd brainstormed, on the trip back, that maybe Chris and Steve, or Jeff, or maybe even Chad could take one of the new additions, since Jensen already has Jenjen and you.You take up a lot of Jensen's time, and it might be a bit much with two more.But then Jensen takes a look into those big scared eyes and then looks back at all of you, and it becomes obvious that your tentative plans are shot to hell.If this isn't going to end in disaster for everyone, it kind of has to be Jensen.

"We didn't know . . . there was no . . ." Jensen looks up at you and you stop.When everyone else stays quiet, you feel a need to continue.

"I... _we_ didn't think you'd want us to leave them there." You feel a need to point out that you were not alone in all this, that more people than you thought this was a good idea, considering the circumstances.

Jensen looks away from you and over to the couch again. 

"They're dirty." It's true, they are. Filthy is probably a more appropriate word.

"We were kind of in a rush, Jensen, and there was no way to clean them on the plane." You can see Jensen nodding a bit, as if agreeing or at least accepting your words. 

"Did they eat?" 

"We tried, gave them all sorts of stuff. But… they didn't seem hungry." 

You're a little rattled by the look of sadness Jensen gives you, his voice tainted by that same emotion as he quietly says, "They're hungry," before he leans down and picks up the little girl, securing her with one arm before reaching down and taking the boy’s hand and slowly leading him away from the couch. As he starts to walk towards the kitchen, the rest of your little group departs, and then you suddenly have two children in your house.

Fuck!


	5. Chapter 5

So that's a nice plot twist, everyone can go "ohh" and "ahh" and "really?! I so don't buy that at all!" You don't really buy it either but you’re kind of stuck with it right now. Sometimes it really would be great if life was a damn three act story. 

You wish things could sometimes just be —not average, that's not what you're saying here!— No, what you want is for things not to be so... inconvenient. You had a plan: retirement, Jensen naked most of the time, drinking rum on your porch while watching the sunset, and then going back to more naked Jensen.

Now, to be honest, you have made some adjustments to the plan, or reworked the plot so to speak. Jensen wasn't really part of it when you first made the outlines, but with regard to that particular change, _you_ made the choice, and anyway, it was _Jensen_ , how could you not change it. Sometimes life throws you an opportunity and you just can't say no. 

You don't plan on ~~stalking~~ meeting the love of your life during your last ~~robbery~~ assignment and ~~kidnapping him~~ begin dating while ~~selling off irreplaceable masterpieces to shady people with too much money, now your money~~ closing your last deal ~~completely wiping your identity and all traces that you ever existed~~ ~~retiringbuying a private island and spending the rest of your days drinking rum and having orgasms~~ and settling down with that person.

 

You didn't plan on having a cat either but again, your choice! In all fairness, this situation you're in is kind of your choice as well, but this is one you made solely taking into account what Jensen would have wanted. Both the previous amendments to your plan had been made from a completely selfish viewpoint. 

Getting Jensen to come here, obviously a good thing for Jensen and everyone else on this island as well, but most of all good for you and if it hadn't been most of all good for you, you would never have sent that post card. So Jensen being here is a completely selfish decision which just happens to be good for people other than you. 

Jenjen. So selfish, selfish, selfish, selfish. You'd think that buying a kitten would be a completely selfless act done for no other reason than to please Jensen. The truth is, you were over on [Beef Island ](http://www.bareboatsbvi.com/map_beef_island.html)on the way to the airport, picking up a few supplies you'd had flown in, and you had some time to kill so you stopped at [Trelli's Bay](http://www.bareboatsbvi.com/trellis_bay.html) for a coffee at the small coffeehouse slash gift shop. That's where you overheard the owner complaining about how his cat had a litter and about not being able to get rid of them. The rest is history. 

It was a spur of the moment thing; the kitten was right there in a cardboard box out back.It wasn't well-planned or thought out. You heard about the kitten, vivid images of Jensen being very grateful flashed before your eyes, so took the kitten off the poor man's hands. That's to say, you took the long route back to your car, just happened to walk by said cardboard box out back, and you might, in the process, have stolen a kitten. So Jenjen was simply a case of you wanting to score cheap points. The thought that Jensen might not come or that you might be stuck with a kitten didn't even cross your mind. 

You always have a plan, people think you’re rash and impatient, that you rush into things and generally just underestimate you. You don't really mind and have no problem helping that impression along. The fact is that you spent most of your childhood and adolescents being observed, prodded, examined and judged. 

You know how to make people see what you want them to see giving very little clue to who you really are and what's really running through your mind. 

People seeing you as the stupid gym rat or the muscle really just gives you more room to get things done the way you want them. A ripped guy in a tank top, distressed jeans and with a copy of swimsuit magazine in his hands is never suspected of being a mastermind art-thief and is easily dismissed by museum staff as someone's bored boyfriend. You've even been informed on a few occasions that you’re currently in an _ARRRT MUUUUSSSEEEEUMMM..._

 

But again, other people’s faulty impressions of you really just works in you favor.What doesn't work in your favor is changing your plan, again. There are two tiny human beings in your home, and despite what you parents or doctors might have thought, you actually do have boundaries and, however much something might be inconvenient, you wouldn't hurt or mistreat a child. You'd easily put a bullet between their eyes once they're all grown up, but that's another matter entirely. 

 

The fact of the matter is that you have two little children in your house, taking over your bed, because there's nowhere else to put them. The most annoying thing about it is that you're going to let them stay, even though they're taking Jensen time away from you, even though you'd planned on using that bed for other things, and even though you really don't want them there. 

They're staying for one simple reason, because Jensen wants them to. Apparently, these days, what Jensen wants is what matters, and if you don't agree, that's just tough luck for you.

 

The most unsettling thing is that Jensen isn’t making the demands or dishing out these new rules: it's you. You're making rules that doesn't work in your favor simply because it's what you think Jensen wants. Now what the hell is up with that?

 

 

Jared Padalecki

Book twelve-hundred and (yes it's still) eighty-seven.

_~~ The case of the evil foster parents ~~ _

_~~ An unexpected complication ~~ _

_ Jared Padalecki and the rugrats _

 

Jared hates average, hates the predictability of nine to five suburbia and all that shit. Not that a privately owned Caribbean island is really comparable to an American suburb, but having a loving partner, a house, a cat and two damn kids is.

So, you're like a dad or something now. You really didn't see that one coming, and you don't even like kids. They're tiny and needy and pretty dumb, and, more importantly, they steal your damn spotlight! 

The thing is, you don't really know what you're supposed to do here, what's expected. Usually you make all the rules, decide what's to be done and what you should do. Now this ridiculous situation is completely outside your control, but things are still expected of you, and you know it. 

You never really liked your dad. He was alright, and you have nothing bad to say about him; you don't really have anything to say about him at all.He was excruciatingly average. He worked ten hours days all week, year after year, for pocket change and two weeks' vacation. 

Looking at him from an average perspective; you suppose he was probably father of the freaking year. He was there for every birthday and for every little league game, he took shitloads of pictures before every high school dance, and all that crap. It probably means something to most people, but, for obvious reasons, you two never really connected.It was your fault: you’re just not wired that way. You didn't do little league, high school dances and shit like, so most of your father-son time consisted of traveling from one shrink to another, which probably didn't help.

You didn't really like your mom either, but it’s not like you're angsting about how you turned out. You like you: you're fucking amazing!

But still, your inability to feel something for them makes you curious, what it is about you that makes you so completely indifferent to your own blood but, at the same time, can make you obsessed about someone you've never spoken to, or care about a damn kitten.What is it that draws you to someone? You don't know and sometimes you wish you did. 

In any event your relationship with your parents was brief, troublesome, and ended at sixteen. The same day you got you license and bought your own first shitty car, you packed a bag and left. They didn't even try and stop you. In retrospect, you guess you were probably a blemish on their otherwise perfect suburban life, the bad apple and all that. 

One thing you do know is that you've never once considered bringing kids into the world, or into your life. You are a lot of things: narcissistic, self absorbed, vain; but you're not delusional, and you know damn well you're all of those things.You also know that kids. . . well . . .you probably shouldn't have any. But they're here now and, the way Jensen's acting round them, they're here to stay. 

You'd all debated their ages on the plane home, but none of you really have much experience with children. Still, you feel that you all managed to make a pretty good guess at their ages, based on size, settling finally on one and a half and three. 

Jensen disagreed and mumbled something about cold canned soup that immediately gives you flashes of a shelved basement room filled with canned gods, before guessing two and four and put Chad to work finding out for sure. Turns out that Jensen is better at guessing ages than you are.

They both have ugly, generic names that Jensen detests. He calls them Ocean and Marina, and the rest of you never bother to call them anything else. 

So that's it: from one moment to another, your whole life, all your plans and expectations, are turned upside down and you're just standing there letting it happen. Jensen takes charge of the whole situation like a general planning a battle, like he's done it all a million time before and is completely unfazed by the whole thing.From that moment on you just stand on the side watching your second and third bedrooms transform from potential man-caves to playroom and nursery. 

Jensen orders you around telling you were to go, what to buy, which walls to paint. He gives you parenting books and warning pamphlets on chemicals in ordinary children's toys. It's like you're frozen to one spot, watching an advancing tornado that happens to have the form of two tiny human beings. 

From a purely esthetic viewpoint, they’re both pretty agreeable, not at first when they were all dirty, undernourished, and pasty. After a few weeks of regular baths (because apparently _children_ are allowed to have baths), a well-balanced diet and plenty of sunshine, they’re … kind of lovely.

You have no problem admitting that. You've spent a big portion of your life studying beautiful things and you have a freaking Masters Degree in Art History, so you know quality when you see it. 

Ocean looks like a little surfer; his hair, already a dirty blond mess of waves, quickly gets sun made highlights. It’s a mess in the beginning, of course, but Jensen trims it carefully while still leaving it long enough to graze Ocean’s shoulders and letting his bangs fall into his eyes. The boy flicks it out of his eyes in the most adorable way. 

When Ocean figures out he’s allowed outside, he only comes inside to sleep.Some evenings Jensen even lets him fall asleep on the deck and lets him spend the night there. 

Running around on the beach gets his skin quickly to a golden shine, and his already light blue eyes looks almost luminous. 

Jensen becomes obsessed with sunscreen, and spends hours online trying to find the best and safest ecological, natural sunscreen. It makes sense and is very important (you’ve read the skin cancer brochures Jensen left around the house).

After seeing that lavender hell you can understand why Jensen indulges the boy, however, when Ocean wakes up one morning with ten (t _en!_ ) mosquito bites, you decide to breach the subject with Jensen.It’s a little irresponsible; he is a tiny little thing after all, vulnerable.

You two kind of don’t agree. In Jensen’s world, mosquito bites are a sign of a healthy lifestyle and a good amount of freedom and fresh air, while you think it’s an unnecessary risk. Or you would, if you where the fatherly type who cared about these kids and their health, which you’re not. But still, they’re in your house so… If anything, it's just good sense: children by themselves are annoying, therefore sick children would be even more annoying. It's more a matter of self-preservation than of you caring if he gets sick. 

In the end, you come up with a compromise whereyou buy this ridiculously expensive custom-built [floating bed ](http://www.floatingbed.com/products/photo-gallery/)with an attached mosquito net big enough for the whole family to sleep in, that you mount between two of the big curved palm trees beside your house.

But yeah, Ocean looks and acts like a little surfer dude, with his sun blond hair, ridiculously blue eyes, and the funny little Hawaiian print swim shorts he keeps running around in. 

When you find a piece of washed-up coral, while walking on the beach, you make it into a necklace for Ocean using a piece of leather string from an old braided belt. It’s as if you’ve given him a magic talisman, the way he refuses to ever take it off.

Jensen makes Jeff teach him how to swim and the boy is, honest to god, like a fish in water, so you have to buy him this awesome little surfboard, then you realize that he can’t go surfing alone so you buy one for yourself so you can go with him, you know, just to make sure he’s okay. Anyway, you’ve totally wanted to learn how to surf, like forever, and if the little brat wants to tag along, it’s no big deal. 

Chad’s investigations reveal that the children are actual siblings, and, even if it hadn’t, you’d still be able to figure it out because Marina is like a miniature female version of her brother, with the blond hair and startling blue eyes. A few weeks in and she’s just a cuddly and plump as a two years old should be. Jensen dresses her in flowery little beach dresses (made purely from fair trade, organic cotton, obviously) and matching sunhats.

In temperament however Marina is her brother’s opposite; she’s quiet where Ocean never stops talking, offering shy smiles to Ocean’s loud laughs. Marina spends hours in the sand playing with shells she’s collected or looking at Jensen posters of fish and corals Ocean can’t keep still for five minutes.

At first you’re worried—worried that Marina’s suffered more than Ocean or that she’s not as resilient as he seems to be. You’re worried for both of them, naturally (well, as naturally at it'll ever be for you to worry about someone other than yourself), that they’ll be damaged beyond repair. Of course you’re no expert on child psychology or children’s development (although you should be considering the amount of time you spent around "experts"), but, in your opinion, they seem to fit in quickly. After a few days of quiet reserve, it’s as if they’ve always been here.Soon you see that Marina’s not more damaged then her brother she’s just the quiet type, like Jensen.

There are setbacks, of course, that tell of their rough start in life, like when Ocean spills his glass of water at dinner and acts as if he’s just committed some horrible act and is just waiting for his punishment. On those occasions, you feel useless and you don’t know what to do, but, of course, Jensen does: he’s probably spilt a few glasses of his own in that house and knows the designated punishment just as well as Ocean does. 

In time, the children learn that in this house there’s no punishment for spilling a glass of water, there’s really no punishment at all. They can’t do whatever they want, but what you’re doing might not exactly be the conventional method of parenting.

But it works. 

Not that you’re a parent—only you kind of are. Then suddenly you realize that it’s been months, and the soft warmth surrounding you in the morning is not Jensen’s delicious body—well it is, too— but a chubby two-year-old, a hyperactive four-year-old, and a cat.

Some mornings it’s fine, and some mornings you panic a little because it’s all so _average_ , but on those mornings, Jensen will look at you and then he‘ll walk the kids, to Jeff or to Chad, or, if he’s desperate, to Chris and Steve. Then he’ll come back alone and spend the morning in bed with you. By lunchtime, he’ll be a quivering mess, with your fingerprints bruised into the skin on his hips, and you’ll be fine again.

You’ve never been the territorial, macho, marking kind of guy; you’re way to sure of yourself to feel a need to claim your partners. It’s always been self-explanatory that they’ve been with you and that they should be damn grateful for it. 

With Jensen, comes a whole new level of cave-manish—mine, all mine, my precccioussss—feeling that’s just a little bit scary, but then again, nothing about the two of you is normal or average.That’s just as you want it, so you just go with it, and as long as Jensen doesn’t object (and he really does _not_ object), then it’s all good. In your opinion, Jensen’s just a little bit more pretty then normal when sporting a nice bite-mark on his shoulder.

But yeah, Jensen lends out the kids for a few hours, gets screwed to the brink of passing out, and then you're all good with being a parent of sorts— not a parent, but… well… oh fuck it, you’re a parent.

If you’re honest with yourself, it’s really not the parent thing that’s the problem: the kids are kind of great. When you’re as self-obsessed and narcissistic asyou are, what better way to confirm your feeling of superiority and uniqueness than the blind adoration of two children who worships the ground you walk on and think everything you do is the best, coolest thing _ever_?

No, the problem is the your bone-crushing fear of becoming average, to wake up one day and realizing that your life is one endless, long, suburban road of mundane things like laundry and work and crap like that. Jared will never,— _never_ —do laundry, and if you didn’t have someone who does it for you (not Jensen, he’ll never do laundry either!) you’d rather buy new clothes than wash the old ones. 

But, other than that potential nightmare of ‘average’, being a parent is kind of cool; you get to be awesome, and Ocean thinks you’re a superhero when you lift him, Marina, and Jensen at the same time. You get that mushy feeling inside again when you hear him bragging to Jeff that Superman is a total dork in ugly tights and that you could kick his ass any day.

The rest of the gang are just as smitten as you are, so you do get some alone time. Not only are four grown, badass men completely Jensen-whipped, but are now led around by two tiny children as well. 

Steve also buys a surfboard, so if you’re not in the water with Ocean, he is. Chad downloads every Disney movie he can find, but, after Marina starts to cry at the shadow demons in [Princess and the Frog](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KICArqH2jNU), he becomes obsessed with PG-Ratings and, much to Jensen’s horror, shows her [Teletubbies](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eC1tikkotVU&feature=fvsr) instead. 

When Jensen objects, Chad argues that it’s appropriate for her age and, in any case, growing up in a same-sex household, it’ll do her good to watch a show with male characters who are not afraid to stray from the stereotypical male role most kids’ shows have adopted. The whole speech stuns Jensen, enough to make him stop protesting. 

To rub it in, and to Chad’s immense pleasure, Marina loves it. Tinky Winky becomes her favorite, and you find it hilarious and order a Tinky Winky doll, [red bag included](http://www.amazon.com/Ragdoll-57246-57205-Tinky-Teletubbies/dp/B00000JJ4Q/ref=sr_1_7?s=toys-and-games&ie=UTF8&qid=1365883501&sr=1-7&keywords=tinky+winky),  Jensen is not amused and swears to go on a sex strike for a week. 

The Tinky Winky-induced “Great Sex Strike of 2012” lasts for a grand total of twelve hours. 

 

All in all, life moves on comfortably. Granted, you’re not ["The Waltons"](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Waltons) and Jensen does gets a little concerned when Marina starts laughing and clapping her hands when Jeff does target practice. He actually frowns when Jeff starts showing her the guns (bullets removed—Jeff is nothing if not obsessive about weapon safety), but Jeff calms him, saying that the best way to make sure she’s safe is to teach her about the weapons so she’ll learn that they’re not toys. 

What he doesn’t mention to Jensen at this particular time, but does say to Jared, is that she seems to have a real eye for it, and he reckons that in two or three years she should be able to start target practice with the smaller weapons. You really don’t have a problem with that and, considering that she’ll probably grow up a real beauty, you’re sure you can convince Jensen that Marina handling firearms comfortably is a good thing.

Jensen is so mushy with the kids that they’ll probably get away with murder, _literally_ , without Jensen batting an eyelash. 

The day Ocean calls Jensen daddy, Jensen gets all teary-eyed, which is kind of adorable. They still call you Jared, which is just fine by you; you don’t need to be a father, being a parent is enough without having it shoved in your face a million times a day. You're a complete dork around them already, and you really don't need to be reminded that there are now two more people that have somehow weaseled their way into your life and, worse, have made you enjoy them being there, despite being small, kind of dumb, and all gross in the way that kids are. 

But you _still_ like them and one day realize that you've just wiped the snot from Marinas face with your own sleeve and not only do you not freak out about kid snot, you keep wearing that shirt, the whole freaking day.

 

So, you're a tiny bit smitten with the little trolls, and you don't care that Jensen says you're spoiling them and that they've got you wrapped around their little finger. If anyone's spoiling them it's Jensen, or Chad. Chad has no resistance to them whatsoever. 

 

One day it happens, inevitably, as you are lying in your floating bed with Ocean, watching Jensen and Marina chasing the tide down on the beach, feeling your skin getting stickier and stickier as half of Ocean’s ice-cream melts and drops down onto your bare chest. 

You look up at him, sitting beside you, his body shielding the sun and creating a glow around him, He looks like an angel, and that uncomfortable, slightly constricting feeling inside of you rears its ugly head. You do your best to swallow it down while sneaking a big lick from Ocean’s ice-cream, but Ocean’s giggle just makes it worse, and then the little brat just shoves the knife right in and twist it by jumping of the bed, intent on joining Jensen and his sister on the beach, and as he hands you the remaining melting mess and says, "You can have the rest of it dad." He just runs off down the white sand, as if it's nothing, as if, somehow, it's completely natural to call you dad and to see you as a dad-like person.

It's the most excruciating thing you've ever felt in your whole life. Well, no. You've felt, and still feel this emotion around Jensen, but usually you can just throw him down to the floor and fuck him stupid, and you don't have to think about the fact that… well, that you love him. 

 

It's not that you're unaware of that little fact; you know you love him, but you've consoled yourself with the fact that your love is special, that you and Jensen are two completely unique human beings and so what you have is unique as well.

But kids… loving a child is not unique, being family is not unique, but that's what you are. You live in house, with a partner and two children and a damn cat. You have barbeque evenings, trip over toys, and sneak away to have sex without scarring the kids for life. 

You're average.

It's like being hit in the balls with a sledge hammer. From the corner of your eye, you can see Jensen frowning as you almost fall off the floating bed in your haste to get away. 

You're glad that he doesn't follow you when you walk away down the beach.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Jared Padalecki

Book twelve-hundred and (yes it's still) eighty-seven.

_~~ The case of the evil foster parents ~~ _

_~~ An unexpected complication ~~ _

_~~ Jared Padalecki and the rugrats ~~ _

_ My average life  _

 

So, here you are, you've had the first act, the buildup of the involved characters, the flashback allowing an insight into the sad history of your ~~dam~~ ** _man_** sel in distress and your reaction to it, and the introduction of our villains. We've had act two, the supposed main plotline drawn to a fiery end, the villains slain and the triumphant heroes returned. The stunning plot twist was revealed and two new characters introduced. And here you are now, nearing the conclusion in act three, but you’re not quite there yet. 

It's all a bit cliché, done so many times that it's kind of unimaginative plot wise. Tough.In a time of deep emotional crisis, getting mind-numbingly drunk is seriously underrated. 

All of your houses are pretty small – well maybe not small, but not mansions either .  Since you're on a secluded island, you don't want to have to go into one of the major ports too often to stock up, but you also don't have an abundance of room in your houses, so you've built a really big underground storage facility.It holds food and toilet paper, a few priceless pieces of art (a second pension incase the market goes insane and you somehow manage to lose you first pension), and a few works of art that just need to rest for a decade or two to up their price.

 

There are also a few flamethrowers and a couple of boxes of AK:47 should some of your old business partners come and try to relieve you of said pension. 

Some more stuff might, maybe, resemble: 

*  [ Transformers Generations Deluxe Action Figures ](http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=11267601&searchURL=false) \- Optimus prime, sadly a good guy but still, he's total badass!

*  [ Disney Princess Ariel's Bathtime Playset ](http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=12356783) , 

*  [ Disney Princess Sparkling Princess Mulan Doll ](http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3867674) (Mulan kicks ass, totally a good role model for a little girl!)

*  [ Barbie I Can Be Doll Playset - Doctor ](http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=10999882) (a I can be Hit woman Playset would have been far more awesome but this'll have to do for now)

*  [ Disney Pixar Brave Merida's Bow and Arrow Set ](http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=12465596) \- yeah baby! now we're talking!

*  [ LEGO Super Heroes The Bat vs. Bane Tumbler Chase ](http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=17819466) \- dudududududududu BATMAN!!!

 

Oh yeah, and a Blackhawk helicopter. Jeff knew a guy who knew a guy … all the usual stuff people keep in their hidden, state of the art, secure underground bunkers. 

What? Christmas is just around the corner, and you might be an average person but you're going to be one EPIC Santa!

 

But more to the point on this particular occasion, it contains alcohol, lots and lots of alcohol. There's Chris priceless wine collection, Jeff's even more priceless Whiskey collection, Chad's international beer collection that aims to contain all beer brands in the world.Chad’s might be a worthy goal if most of the beer wasn't so incredibly disgusting. Seriously though, Banana beer, is just rank. 

You're not going to touch any of those though: Chris would kill you (well, try to); Jeff would torture you, then kill you (you're a badass, but he's Jeff); and as for Chad, well, you wouldn’t go near that if someone paid you (seriously, you're really stinking rich; you wouldn't). 

But there are also more general types of alcohol that aren't priceless or unbelievingly disgusting: ordinary wine, whiskey, and dozens of bottles of Kahlua that Steve insists you need even though you've never seen him drink a single drop . And then of course, because you are in the Caribbean, there's rum, lot's and lot's of rum.

Rum is great and lovely and your new best friend. Rum doesn't ask for anything back orexpect things of you, and it sure as hell doesn't try to make you average and kiss you and call you “dad.”Rum is sweet and kind and helps you become even more unique than you already are. 

Imagine if life was just like a story, and this really was the sequel to you ~~meeting~~ kidnapping the love of your life (or maybe just, “kidnapping your love,” since, until Jensen, love wasn't something you did, and you wouldn’t want to imply that there possibly could have been others, which—just, no.) 

If you could have a bird’s eye view of this whole mess, you wonder what you'd see. What kind of impact would your story make on the readers; what would they see? 

From that perspective, you might at first think that you're overreacting just a little bit. On the other hand, you could say that you’re handling all this very well, considering that this mess is completely out of your hands which is just a teeny bit difficult for you. 

You really have to be unique, your life has to be unique, and if it isn't, if you're not different, then there's really no point, no reason as to why you're like this. If you and your life are not meant to be extraordinary and different from everyone else's than surely you wouldn't be as you are. 

You wouldn't have been so unhappy growing up, you wouldn't have felt so alien, you'd be a good boy who loved his parents and liked nine-to-five suburbia. 

But you don't and you never did, you hated it and you still do, and you need to know that you didn't just come out wrong for no reason.

You find yourself a couple of drops of rum away from alcohol poisoning, laying half asleep on a cold tiled floor in your underground bunker, staring at the ceiling (which is spinning around and around and around, way too fast) trying to understand your own goddamned story.

 

The thing with Rum though is that she's a fickle bitch who loves you intensely for a few hours and then leaves you hurting. 

The sun, that traitor, is high in the sky when you finally leave the wreckage of empty bottles in your bunker and carefully try to glide forward without jarring any part of your body. That's not easy when you're walking in sand. Predictably, it's more like talking a stroll through purgatory than the short walk it really is to Steve and Chris’ house.

You don't really have a plan, you just really want some water, an aspirin or five, and maybe a toilet to throw up in. Knocking is a whole new level of hell, but it's nothing compared to the one that presents itself when Steve, clad in nothing more than a studded leather thong, opens the door, reveling what's behind it.

You just turn around. Today is not the right day to go there—actually no day ever will be a good day to go there, _ever_!

As you walk towards Jeff's house, you know the sight of Chad, ball gagged and suspended in some kind of leather contraption (with Chris licking something off his skin), will always haunt you. So Damned Freaky!

Jeff's not freaky though. Take away the fact that he knows hundreds of ways to kill people, and has probably tried them all, he's a nice, reliable stable guy. A stable guy who has aspirin, and coffee and who, since he's not chained to the bed, as he was the last time you where here, was successful in his goal the help Jim/Tim/Kim to get over vagina and start loving cock, as any self-respecting, good-looking man should. 

Jeff confirms your suspicions while also taking the opportunity to let you know that, thanks to Chad, you don't have to figure out (if you'd actually cared enough to want to) which of the ?ims he is, since Chad's decided that he's now called Oscar.

 

It's an accepted truth that every good story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. 

What most people tend to forget is that a story isn't really a story until you've reached the end, and that the end is made up from more than two words stating "the end."

No, the end of a story is a complicated matter, and, without it, it's just a mass of words heading for something unknown, just an unfinished journey. The end is where the big revelations comes, where all the loose ends tie together and all the roads finally lead to Rome. 

The end is where the story really begins to make sense, and when you realize that what you thought was the plot was completely wrong and really the story is about something completely different. 

Rehydrated, armed with a really big water bottle and another handful of aspirin, you make your way from Jeff's house. It isn't a long walk from his house to yours, but it's not a pleasant experience, considering your state. You struggle during the uphill climb from Jeff's small beach leading to the lush plateau containing your orchard that stands above both Jeff's beach and yours.

Taking a rest, you walk over to one of your orange trees and pick one before sitting down just at the edge of the plateau, so you have a view down on your beach. The plateau isn't very high, so although the lush greens all around might prevent people from seeing you, you can see them. 

You see Ocean and Marina on their knees in the sand, their blond little heads close together and crunched down over one of their little buckets no doubt containing one or more crabs or prawns or other creature they collect and "study."Who needs toys when you have a beach?

You can't see Jensen, but soon Jeff and Oscar can be seen coming down to the beach. No doubt they've been called in for babysitting duty, but then why did they take the longer rout around the plateau instead of just walking with you? You don't dwell on the question though; given the state you're in, they probably left you alone out of pity.

You look down at the orange in your hand, and the thought of eating forces you to swallow hard to keep down the bile trying to force its way up, but at the same time you realize that some organic, chemical free, home grownvitamin C is probably just what the doctor (or Jensen) ordered.

As your thumb pierces the thick peel, the sticky juice coats your hand, and the tangy smell hits your nose. You can't help feeling a little bit like the Orange in your hand (and no you don't see anything amusing about comparing yourself with a _fruit_ and if someone disagrees you have _a lot_ of big guns not very far away!)

From the outside, it looks so sturdy and solid, but push hard enough and you can just nestle your way inside and start peeling of the layers, and inside it's just a mushy, juice mess that can be literally pulled apart into pieces.You can't help but wonder when you got so easy to push inside.With the gang it took time, but Jensen… Jensen just slid right in (and so did you! hahaha), and you don't really know how it happened. 

Jensenstarted something. It's like once he got in there and took a piece, now there's no end to how many people you can fit: JenJen, one piece; Ocean, one piece; Marina, one piece; and now there's Oscar, and you know shit about him, really, but here he is and you like him and—well, fuck!—you may as well pull off a piece and hand it to him right now. 

It's like Jensen flipped a switch or something, a switch that suddenly makes you like people. Which is just weird, because you don't.People are dumb and irritating, judgmental and arrogant, with a way to high opinion of themselves, and their so-called morals and civilized ways.

There's a swooshing sound of branches being softly moved behind you, followed by the soft crisp sound of greenery being tamed by bare feet. His shadow comes into sight before he does, and your gut clenches in anticipation, like it always does. It's like a sixth sense, knowing that he's close. 

Bare feet and tanned legs come into view as he sits down beside you. He looks so different now; though he still looks like himself, these two years on the island have given him a soft golden tan instead of the pale look he had when you first met—not that he didn't totally pull off the pasty look— now the golden skin complemented the green in his eyes making them glisten, and those adorable freckles cover him _all over._

Confident eyes, not scared or cast down any longer, meet you head on. Jensen Ackles exists. He's still messed up as fuck, barely talks, and has some serious issues with obsessive behavior (who doesn't?),but he exists and he's happy and, more importantly, he's yours.

"Done freaking out?"

He's also a little too perceptive for comfort and easily sees right through you. You never used to be this transparent. 

"Not yet," you say. He just lifts one perfect eyebrow, which is annoying.Sometimes you want him to talk _your_ ear off for a change. 

"I'm really hung-over Jensen, feel sorry for me." You try the pity card next and throw in some pouting to help things along, anything to distract him from a conversation you're not ready to have. It's not that you don't want to talk to him, it's that you still don't know what to say. You really have no fucking clue what this story is all about. 

"I can imagine. You smell like a rum factory," he says. You really do, and you can almost feel the rum fumes seeping out through your pores. 

"That's not sympathy." 

"Sympathy for what?" 

For what? For what? Honestly, what kind of question is that? You realize that your hangover and your identity crisis might be making you a bit unstable, but really! For what? Really! 

"For being average! I'm fucking average, Jensen! I need sympathy for being really fucking average!"

For a moment Jensen just looks at you, and then he takes a deep breath and laughs in that quiet, slightly mysterious way he does. Jensen laughs at you, like your plight is amusing, as if having your whole self-worthcrumbling at your feet is funny. Finally, he stops andfor a moment he just looks at you before;

"Jared, your life is not average, it's utterly absurd."

He stops for a moment and takes breath before utterly crushing your crisis the way only Jensen can. 

"Jared, you love people, they love you back. Get over it!" 

Well fuck! It's so fucking true and so damn simple you can't believe you haven't been able to see it. You've been angsting about this shit for months, and it's all so simple. You love people and they love you back, you're a thief and a murderer and they love you. 

Jensen, Ocean and Marina even Jenjen, they're with you because you're special, because you see something in them no one else ever did. Having them in your life doesn't make you average, it just means you've foundother unique people." 

Jensen's right, you're life is absurd!

“You're a thief, a really good one. Your band of merry men (two perverts and an almost-perverted grumpy hacker) has robbed your way across the world, performing some of the world's most infamous art thefts without getting caught. 

“Then you stumble on a selective, hermit mute with an unpleasant childhood. You kidnap said hermit mute, seduced him, pop his cherry, and he falls in love with you. He then lies to the FBI for you.

You never doubted that he would, not for a second. Leaving Jensen behind, tied and bruised in that room in Montana was the hardest thing you've ever done, but you never felt any uncertainty that he wouldn't try his best to keep what little he knew about you, all to himself.

You all live on a private Caribbean Island where an incredibly dangerous hit man spends his days shooting things, and teaching mutes and children how to swim, when he’s not helping pretty men get over vagina.

You then murder Jensen's evil foster family but bring back two children, and you’re raising themso well that they think you're a superhero.

You're not becoming average, you're just really good at singling out people who are worth your time. 

Just because your life might have a few of the same ingredients that average people life's have, doesn't mean it's anything remotely like theirs. So what, if average people have a house just like you do? While their house is on an average ugly suburban street, your house is on _a private Caribbean island_. One that you fucking own! (Well, actually it's a co-operative, but that's a minor detail.)

Average people might have a wife or husband or "life partner," but you'd not even consider insulting Jensen by comparing him to anyone else.

And, just like thirty-three percent (yes, you looked it up) of all Americans, you have a cat, but while average cats destroy furniture, vomit hairballs on the floor and are generally annoying, your cat is seriously clever, trims it's claws on the palm tree by your patio stairs and starts purring as soon as it sees you.

Average people have friends, but their friends work in offices and do boring stuff, like talk about football, or help them with... average stuff. Your friends shoot stuff for a living (or people, actually, but really, who cares?), talk about renaissance art, and whip up new identities for you in an evening.

Average people have kids—snot nosed brats who scream and throw themselves on the floor in supermarkets, are just really annoying—who are there simply because society tells average people they should have them, probably to hide the fact that their lives are empty and utterly meaningless. 

Jared Padalecki’s life has always had a meaning; you've made sure of it. You don't just have kids, you have Ocean and Marina. Although small and not fully grown, they're not kids; they're special. They came to you unconventionally, under strange circumstances, but that makes them even more unique, and they came to you not because you needed them (you and Jensen were fine without them) but because _they_ needed _you_. 

Like Jensen, they're in your life because you can give them something no one else can. Surprisingly though, seeing as they're not hackers or hit men, or thieves, it turns out they can give you something too. Love. 

You look over at Jensen. It figures that it would take a selective, occasional mute to finally talk some sense into you.

"So, done freaking out?" Yeah, actually you think you really are. It's annoying anyway, and so fucking average.

"Done talking?"

"Orgasms?" Jensen's eye's glitter and he get's that look that scream "take me now you big hunk of incredible man!" 

 

"Yes!" God, you really love him.Seriously, the man knows how to keep his priorities straight (or not)!

 

"Then yes. Done talking."

Well, okay then. Things after all that are pretty straightforward, as they usually are with the two of you. Jensen quickly ends up on his back in the lush grass, a position and place he should be very familiar with by now. 

His clothes soon end up strewn around him, but not before you've fished out one of the small bottles of lube that litter the pockets of all your pants. 

In a good story this would probably be the moment you make sweet, sweet love, taking your time to softly explore your lover’s body, caress his soft skin, adore his budding nipples, and worship his engorged manliness. 

 

Yeah, but you and Jensen, you're more the fucking-until-Jensen-screams types.There's really not a single inch of his body you haven't explored already, and soft-and-gentle is not really your thing. Jensen likes to feel it, to feel you, and he gasps when you grab his legs and pull him up flush against you, his lovely, soft, tanned, gorgeous ass just sitting there waiting for you.

 

You're not _engorged_ , you're hard, really damn hard, and you have been ever since he sat down next to you, ever since you first saw him. You're like Pavlov's dog: if Jensen is around, you’re hard. It's an automatic reaction, and right now it makes you too damn impatient to be taking your time. 

The orange, to which you’d compared yourself just a little while ago, lies discarded on the ground, but your hands are still sticky from the juice.It doesn't matter, but it gives the lube a slight scent of orange. 

Sex with Jensen never gets dull, and entering him is always an adventure, always exciting. He's made for you. His body molds to fit yours perfectly, and your hangover is completely forgotten as you throw yourself off the edge and tumble into him. 

Your hands are everywhere, andyou just can't pull him towards you enough, bend him far enough, feel enough, get deep enough inside of him, even though there's not a single bit of space in-between you.

You want to feel all of him all at once, taste every single inch of golden skin, and feel his hands pulling your hair. You want to hear him, your quiet boy, who never stays quiet when you're together like this. 

Jensen just takes all and demands even more, as if he's starved for affection, like that first time when he just surrendered completely. You felt it, then, how he just stopped, gave up and gave you everything. That's how it's been every time, ever since that night in Montana when you shot someone and Jensen decided that he didn't care. 

 

Jensen gives you everything, never holds back, and never denies you what you want. 

 

In return you give him orgasms, lots and lots of orgasms. It's a fair deal.


	7. Chapter 7

It's an accepted truth that every good story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Through the story generally you see some character development, some stunning revelations, surprising turns in the plot and hopefully some romance thrown in as well, preferably of the steamy kind. 

Generally though it always end's with a satisfying "the end." and that's that, neat and tidy a story told in three acts and everyone's satisfied by the end of it. 

The thing is though, in real life, there never really is an end. Sure, sooner or later you die, but your story—your life—is entwined with others and unless you've lived your life alone and isolated from cradle to grave, your story is bound to continue in some other plotline. You may not always be the main character; some plot twist may throw you into new situations where you have to share your spotlight. In some stories, you’re just a brief mention, someone who once was important, but nevertheless you're still there. You’re still part of the plot. 

In the end this is what you realize about your own story: it's really just begun. You, Jared freaking Pada—something long and stupid that Chad found in a Polish name book—lecki, and the people around you, people you've chosen to have in your life because you love them, not by default and not because you should, but because they actually love you back and make your life better and _more_ unique, are what's going to continue your extraordinary story for years to come, that story will endure long after you're gone.

More importantly, you're not wrong. You’re bad (sure) and a thief (obviously). You are vain, egotistical, narcissistic, and possibly a sociopath or whatever the hell they call it now. You're a killer and a murderer, and you don't feel one single little twinge of guilt about it. 

You have an underground bunker filled with illegal weapons, stolen art worth millions, possibly billions, of dollars, and a Black Hawk helicopter.But you’re not wrong, you're special.

You're also smart, insanely good looking with a body that titans would kill for, you're co-owner of a private Caribbean island, and your friends kick ass! You're a pet owner, a lover, a partner, a father, and a really EPIC Santa.

You're Jared, and you and your life are fucking amazing!

 

Also available in the "Jared and friends" series 

_ The case of the evil foster parents _

_ An unexpected complication _

_ Jared Padalecki and the rugrats _

_ My average life  _

_ Life according to Jared _

_ Parenting according to Jared _

_ Uncle Jeff explains: So your daughter wants to be a hit woman  _

_ Plastic bags are evil _

_ Why Mac sucks  _

_ A sociopaths guide to: Love- feelings are fun! _

_ Composting with Jensen  _

_ Uncle Jeff explains: knives - is big really better? _

_ 101 ways to use your Blackhawk helicopter _

_ Corals - why they're important _

_ A thief's guide to art - is it worth stealing? _

_ Beer - why it's awesome! _

_ Ball gags, cock straps and collars - a beginner’s guide _

_ Rum - why it's **really** awesome _

_ Hair care 101 _

_ Uncle Jeff explains: how to eviscerate a Mexican cartel with just a piece of string _

_ Unique - how I turned out so awesome and why you never will "The End " _

 

 

 

[Family Album](http://s1211.photobucket.com/user/Bigcatsandme/library/Coral?sort=3&page=1#%22_blank)  Password: Cougar 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Thank you:** to **walking_tornado@livejournal.com** for the Beta - all remaining mistakes are my own.


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